


Diced Tomatoes

by Orangepencils



Series: To Do Lists [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Family Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:19:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5427632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orangepencils/pseuds/Orangepencils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She has always been task-driven. To-do lists are her friends. She’s always sworn by them. Always. And maybe, somewhere along the line, she’s convinced herself that if she gets every chore crossed off, Jack will get better." </p><p>Spans from Jack's birth to slowly after Jack's OD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diced Tomatoes

**Author's Note:**

> A special thanks to Lomitzz, who cared enough about my silly ideas to beta them. Now go study! Ironically, this is my third CP fic, but the first one that I post. Oups. Anyways, enjoy!

** Diced Tomatoes **

 

It’s the afternoon. Alicia is back from her errands. She crosses off the last three things from her to-do list and allows herself to pause, for a few seconds, before she tackles her next task.

 

She has always been task-driven. To-do lists are her friends. She’s always sworn by them.

 

And maybe, somewhere along the line, she’s convinced herself that if she gets every chore crossed off, Jack will get better.

 

Therefore, she takes out the cutting board and places it next to the knife. She gets the tomatoes from the fridge and rinses them out. They look perfect. She puts them on the cutting board and starts to slice the first tomato.

 

\--

 

Alicia was fiercely excited when she found out they were expecting. She couldn’t wait to be a mom and she had spent her fair share of nights with Bob, thinking about what the future would hold. Would they have a boy or a girl? Blue eyes or brown? Blonde hair or brown? Would they be into the arts or sports? Maybe something completely of their own? They came up with scenarios sometimes, but they always agreed, Bob’s hand on Alicia’s belly, that as long as the baby was healthy, it wouldn’t matter.

 

She remembers holding Jack for the first time, after he was born, and falling in love with him. She didn’t care what he looked like. He was her precious baby and she would protect him until the ends of time. She knew she would fight dragons for him, break out the garden hose on the reporters when the time would come and that she would go through hell and back to hear that adorable peel of laughter coming from her son’s mouth.

 

As Jack grew up, they were always thick as thieves – her and Jack. She would spend days with him, playing pretend, taking out old props she had saved from her films. Jack would clap his chubby little hands and shriek louder still and Alicia loved it all. She loved the way Jack’s curious gaze would follow her, the way he would look pleased as pie when she showed him a new costume, and the way he would reach out for her, for an extra cuddle, whenever he had a chance.

 

Everywhere she went, Jack went along.

 

When Jack wasn’t outside with Bob, he was at her hip, following her around. She adored him. She would do anything for him.

 

From his chubby, rosy cheeks, to his deep blue eyes and stubby little toes she liked to kiss, Jack was her little ray of sunshine. He brought joy into her life and brightened any cloudy day with his presence.

 

And Jack loved Bob. The boy loved them both, but it was his father he idolised above all.

 

During the winter months, it was impossible to get her two boys inside for longer than strictly necessary. Jack had to be like Papa. Papa was Jack’s superhero.

 

She thought it endearing, cute even.

 

Bob would tell Jack stories, once he got a little older, and his blue eyes would widen, as he drank every word of Bob’s tales. When he was old enough to understand, it was clear to anyone who asked that Jack wanted to be the best, just like Papa, when he grew up and they all thought it was adorable. Alicia thought it was cute enough to get Jack a small “Zimmermann” jersey for his third birthday.

 

The boy went everywhere in it.

 

It was endearing.

 

\--

 

Alicia takes her second tomato, inspects it, and starts chopping. Her mind is a mess. There are more thoughts swimming in it than should be normal, but she can’t stop. She goes through her list again. If she completes all her tasks by the end of the day, then it’ll be one more to cross off the calendar.

 

She still vividly remembers the moment the magic stopped. The moment where Jack went from being proud to tell anyone and everyone that his Papa was the best Papa, because he was Papa and to resenting Bob for being who he was and what it meant for him.

 

One day, Jack went to school all excited to tell his classmates about his Papa, and that night, Jack never wanted to be associated with him again.

 

She’s exaggerating.

 

It wasn’t that bad.

 

Had it been, maybe it would have made things easier.

 

\--

 

Jack still admired his father. However, he resented the fame that came with the name.

 

By the time first grade reared its head in, Jack quickly realised that his friends weren’t his friends because they wanted to. They were his friend because he was the son of Bob Zimmermann.

 

It broke her heart.

 

And Bob – Bob tried. He didn’t know what it was doing to Jack. Jack – her precious darling son who was a little on the heavy side, but on those times when he would smile at her, he melted her heart and she knew that he would be okay.

 

Bob would put on the act for the kids. He would tell them tales and he would awe Jack’s friends, as he always did. But Jack resented him more. Why couldn’t his Papa be normal? Why couldn’t he do that just for Jack?

 

Jack still wanted to be like Papa. He wanted that easy grace and the accomplishments. He wanted to know that he would be something great. Not his father’s shadow. And his father knew how to do that. So he followed his father’s advice to the word.

 

Alicia had spent the better part of Jack’s childhood watching him play hockey on the backyard rink with Bob.

 

Sometimes, when they were together, she could see them laugh and it calmed her heart that at least, Jack was still having fun. Her little chubby Jack was still a boy. Her boy. Her son. Her sun.

 

And Bob – Bob wasn’t a bad father. No. She could never say he was a bad father. All his parenting moments happened on the ice. Whether a rink, the backyard, during a game, it didn’t matter, but there was always ice. And he was never condescending.

 

He just got more serious, as Jack grew older.

 

\--

 

Alicia wonders how many tomatoes she needs. She figures she could chop them all.

 

\--

 

Even though Bob retired, he was still busy. For the longest of time, it was just her and Jack. They would watch movies together, curled up on the couch and Jack would bemoan her “cheesy romance” films and say that she had a gift for finding them. He would always watch with her, despite the commentary.

 

By the time Jack turned thirteen, it became apparent to Alicia that Jack still wanted to be like Papa and that hockey was a serious thing to him. She reminded him he had to finish high school at the least and he promised her he would.

 

Bob kept a closer eye on Jack. The media took an interest. And Jack blossomed into a young man before she even knew it.

 

As Jack improved, the media’s presence increased along with the pressure that came with it.

 

\--

 

Alicia scoffs as one of her tomatoes slips off the cutting board and rolls onto her perfectly clean kitchen. She cleaned it this morning. She cleaned it yesterday morning as well.

 

They have a maid. Usually, Alicia doesn’t mind the housework, but some things she can’t stand. Like dusting. And vacuuming. Maybe even mopping.

 

Now she finds mopping therapeutic.

 

She throws water on the floor and it makes all the bad things disappear if she scrubs at them.

 

Sometimes, she’d like a giant mop. For her life.

 

For Jack.

 

\--

 

Alicia never liked the press. Not even when she had to deal with them. She didn’t mind interviews scheduled in advance. She didn’t mind planned events. However, she found the reporters to be downright rude when there were ten of them shoving microphones and cameras to her face, asking her twenty-five questions at the same time.

 

She found the reporters infuriating when they leaked false rumours about her and Bob.

 

She threatened the reporters when they started making comments about Jack.

 

(And she had sat down with Jack, one afternoon, when he was back from his billet family’s for the weekend, to teach him the ropes about dealing with the media.)

 

It was a good thing Bob handled the press after...

 

 

After _that_.

 

\--

 

Alicia meticulously cuts her tomatoes. She thought she would make sauce, at first. But then she realised she was hungry and decided for an omelette. With tomatoes. Or something.

 

It doesn’t matter, really, what happens with the tomatoes. She just needs to do something. To go through her list of things she has to do, before she can go to bed and know for sure that another day has passed.

 

That Jack has made it through another day.

 

She knows that if she can go through her list of things, then Jack can make it through another day and that means he’ll be fine.

 

Because he’s her son. And he has to be fine.

 

And she has to be fine for Jack so that Jack can be fine on his own.

 

Therefore, she cannot break down.

 

She has not broken down since.

 

Since when she saw Jack, really.

 

There was never a chance, before that.

 

There was a brief moment when they got the news. She doesn’t really remember. She’s not really sure how they made it to the hospital. But she couldn’t cry. Bob was shell-shocked and could barely move. She had to make sure they got to Jack. She made sure they did.

 

Then, there was the kind doctor and the calming nurse. She had to listen to them. She wasn’t sure Bob was really paying attention. No time to cry.

 

And then there was Kent – Kenny. The poor boy, who had just as much on his plate and looked like he needed a hug and a warm blanket.

 

She had provided him with the first. She was still a mother. She could still be a mother. She knew what people expected of mothers. (The rags were wrong; she was a good mother. She had done her best. She loved her son. She was a good mother. She had done her best. She loved her son. She was a good mother. She had done her best. She had done her best. She had done her best. Her best.)

 

She loved her son.

 

She loves her son.

 

She couldn’t cry then. Kenny needed her. She made sure he was on his way home, that he would call her tomorrow, that he would get some rest, and that _it wasn’t his fault._

 

(Was it hers?)

 

Is it hers?

 

It’s hers.

 

It’s when she’s alone with Jack and every machine she never wanted to see attached to his young body that the tears finally come. It’s when the room is dark and Bob is outside thinking that she lets herself be weak.

 

And she cries.

 

She weeps.

 

She clutches the bar of Jack’s bed and shakes, trying to be silent. But her sobs are heaving and hallow and she realises, for the first time, that she could lose Jack. At any time. Forever. Just because he is her son, it holds no water to the rest of the world.

 

And how close that wave had come to crashing over her.

 

(She still thinks she’s drowning. Sometimes, she wakes up gasping.)

 

She’s not sure how much time she spends in that room. Every day. It’s a new room now. But it’s the same. Jack isn’t home. Or, well, Jack isn’t in his own home, playing professional hockey. It’s the third thing on her list, visiting Jack. Tomatoes come last.

 

But every day, Alicia makes her way to the nice center they found for Jack. And every day, Alicia decides not to curse the nice center, because it means Jack is alive. Jack is still part of this world. And if she can make it through her day and her list of things, if she can keep it together, then Jack will get better.

 

No weakness.

 

No tears.

 

She has to be strong.

 

She has to be the glue that keeps her little family together.

 

Because that’s what she’s always done.

 

If she was honest with herself, she could probably remember the times when she’s had to step up into that role.

 

Like when Jack was diagnosed. And she thought for sure Bob was going to up and leave.

 

He looked so sad. So hurt. So guilty.

 

Again, she had listened to every word the doctor had said, had even taken notes. And they’d found a way.

 

At least now, Jack didn’t always look so jittery. So worried. So afraid.

 

And at least Jack had his friend. Kenny.

 

He was a Godsend.

 

As much as the media kept their hungry eyes on Jack’s stats, she had kept her watchful eyes on her son.

 

But Jack was good. Really good. And with every win and every new record, she worried just a little bit less.

 

Just enough to be blindsided long enough to believe that everything would be okay. That she didn’t need to worry.

 

And that’s when it happened.

 

It was her fault.

 

Maybe they are right. Maybe she is a bad mother.

 

But Jack will get better. He’s already getting better. If anything, he’s alive. He’s in that nice center, but he’s alive. And maybe tomorrow he’ll be in a good mood. They could go for a walk. It was nice. Last time. When they went for a walk. Just the two of them. Just like before. Like when it was her and Jack and nothing else.

 

Her and her beautiful son who wanted extra cuddles from his _maman._

 

Alicia doesn’t realise she’s cut the last of her tomatoes. Her hands grab at the air for a moment. When they can’t find anything, she snaps to and looks down. There’s a mountain of finely diced tomatoes on her cutting board, juice running on the sides. She’ll have to clean the counter.

 

She takes out a container and slides them in, before putting it in the refrigerator, next to yesterday’s carrots. Maybe she will make that omelette, she thinks.

 

But it’s not on her list. And she wouldn’t want to jinx it.

 

**FIN**

 

**Started typing: December 13 th 2015, 7h51pm**

**Finished typing: December 13 th 2015, 9h00pm**

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also randomoranges on Tumblr.


End file.
